


The Problems of Basing Strategy on Storybooks

by bluelittleheart



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelittleheart/pseuds/bluelittleheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drakasha afloat is scarily competent. Drakasha without her ship is forced to rely on Ezriane De La Mastron, whose early view of the world was shaped by reading about it.</p><p>Or, how Drakasha and Ezri got those wigs and robes. </p><p>Set pre-RSURS</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Problems of Basing Strategy on Storybooks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [virusq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/gifts).



> If you enjoy reading this even a tenth as much as I enjoyed writing it, I'll be... well, almost as insufferable as Locke Lamora really. Thank you for making this a really fun experience, and have a very Merry Christmas!

'Dismissed.'

Locke walked away but stopped at the edge of the steps down to the waist, where the Merry Watch was in full and uproarious swing. 'Permit me one question, Captain?'

'You may ask, certainly.'

'Those are authentic lawyer’s wigs from Nicora, yes?' Drakasha inclined her head as if to say ‘what of it?’ 'Don’t you find them unbelievably fucking itchy?'

Drakasha quirked an eyebrow, amused. ‘ _Dismissed_ , Ravelle’.

***

Made of a nasty combination of horse hair and sheep’s wool, the legal wigs of Nicora were preternaturally itchy. Officially, they were said to concentrate the wearers powers of oratory by heating the humours of the brain.

‘More realistically,’ said Father Chains one afternoon on the temple rooftop, ‘It’s impossible to wear one for more than thirty minutes without losing your marbles entirely. Sometimes less - A Justice from Syresti who attempted to practice in Nicora apparently lasted five minutes before suffering an attack of blasphemy and attacking one of the counsels, it was quite the scandal. Makes for a very interesting legal system though, very efficient.’

The Gentleman Bastards were taking it in turn to wear one while their fellows fired the most fiendish questions they could think of at them. It was a beautiful day in mid-summer and Locke Lamora, head itching abominably, could not think of any worse way to pass the time.

‘Distracting ain’t it? In my youth’ explained Chains, ‘ I hatched a scheme to make the Crooked Warden weep tears of joy. Had I brought it off successfully, Merragio himself could not have stored the spoils. Alas that it required me to think complicated thoughts while wearing this very same wig. Best believe I am going to make damn sure none of you make my mistake.

***

‘Nothing.’

'Nothing here either.' It was late afternoon, and the golden rays of a Nicoran early sunset slanted through the lead-glass windows of the study, illuminating furniture that had once been fine but could now be charitably described only as 'well-loved'. And rather dusty. From her vantage point watching the door in case of unwanted intrusion, Zamira Drakasha, having spent the day alternately hiding from the house's legitimate inhabitants, hunting through dry folios full of legal jargon and trying very hard not to sneeze, put down the file she was reading and glared at the woman in front of her. ‘Ezriane. Ezri. You are absolutely certain that this Carrera is blackmailing your father?’ 

Her companion, a diminutive young woman with curly dark hair escaping its fussily arranged constraints, glared right back. ‘No of course not, I'm making the whole thing up, I let you into our home on a whim out of one of my story books for silly girls!’ She sank back in her seat with a floomp of frilly skirts and a noise of disgust. ‘I know you think I'm a delicate know-nothing of a hothouse flower, but Papa told me everything! It’s the only reason I agreed to marry Carrera's dolt of a boy to begin with.' 

'To stop him from exposing your family's poverty and save your parents' face in society, yes. What your father didn't mention was the existence of written proof.' In all probability no such proof existed. Blackmail was considered truly heinous in Nicoran high society, for historical reasons that Ezri had attempted to explain but which were really too convoluted for Drakasha to care about in detail. The upshot was that if they could prove that Carrera was engaged in blackmailing the venerable house of Matron for the hand of one of its daughters, his own house would be ruined - or, as Drakasha was hoping, he could give her her damn ship back and maybe - _maybe_ she would sail far far away and leave him with a full set of functioning gonads.

'There must be something,' said Ezri. 'Papa received a letter with the Carrera seal attached the day before... all of this began. He didn't come out of this office all that day, wouldn't let us in, claimed illness. He met with Carrera just a day later.' 

And if he had any sense at all, that letter was long-burnt. Still, it represented her best chance at regaining her ship. ‘Tell me,' she said. 'Does your Papa keep private correspondence anywhere other than here in the house?’

‘No. The only other place we could look is his office at work.’ She stood up and grinned. ‘I have a plan. Captain Drakasha - what do you say to breaking into the courthouse? 

‘I’m not _your_ captain, little woman. But by all means, say on.’

***

‘The Nicoran Courts of Law comprise two parts,’ explained Ezri the next day. She was dressed in much plainer clothing and carrying a large bag. ‘The Courthouse proper where the cases are tried and decided, and the Offices of Law where the legal staff work.’

‘And Carrera is one of the staff?’ muttered Drakasha, looking up at the building’s imposing facade. Tall and blocky, statues representing the crimes tried within stared sorrowfully out at the city below. Drakasha thought they looked mostly constipated. She turned to Ezri. ‘What exactly do you need me here for?’

‘Hardly. Most of the city's gentlemen have 'occupations', mostly for amusement and prestige - some hire common folk to do the actual labour but guess who gets the credit? Others use it as a way of avoiding time spent with their wives.' Ezri's voice had taken on a wobble and Drakasha looked at her, concerned, but a moment late she continued. 'And I need you to keep a weather eye out. Anyone can enter the Courthouse, that’s public, but to get into the Offices we’ll need to look like we work there. We’ll need cleric's robes, wigs and legal files to carry - I have a set of Papa’s, but I’ll need to ah, acquire a spare set for you from someone else. His won’t fit, obviously, but there's always a few spares in the coat chambers.’

‘Obviously,’ echoed Drakasha.

The outfits will get us into the Office section of the building, but we don’t want to get caught in someone's office, Carrera's least of all. Good news is, they’re full of places to hide. I’ll go through the papers, you keep look-out, and if anyone comes along we’ll hide until they’re gone.’ Ezri grinned up at her. Gods, she appeared confident - even pleased! Drakasha hoped her skill in petty larceny outmatched her swordplay.

‘That’s your plan? Iono save us both!’

‘Oh relax, Captain. I used to spend hours here with Papa when I was small. Shall we?’ Ezri took Drakasha’s arm and they headed inside.

Drakasha opened her mouth.

‘And the next words out of your mouth had better be ‘good plan’, or can come up with your own plan to get your ship back!

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard a plan quite like it?’ said Drakasha, faintly. Merciful Gods, she was going to have to learn to be a dirt-grubber. ‘Still not your captain though.’ And praise Ulcris for minuscule mercies.

Tucked into her side, Ezri grinned up at her. 'Aw. I'll win you over yet.' 

They passed into an atrium with a high ceiling and dark wood panels. Clerks in black robes and scratchy-looking wigs dodged around and between clumps of lost-looking citizens, occasionally using legal files as battering rams; the general atmosphere was of genteel, well-organised chaos. Benches set in recessed alcoves offered respite and it was to one of these that Ezri steered Drakasha. 'Wait here for me, I won't be long. Try not to stick out,' she grinned, and was gone.

***

The Offices of Law turned out to comprised a tangled ball of narrow corridors, opening out here and there onto meeting nooks, libraries of legal texts and the odd drinking parlour, seemingly at random. They were ambling sedately along a corridor so that Ezri could examine the enameled wall-plaques advertising the names of those legal professionals working (or indeed 'working') within. At each room they came to Ezri muttered under her breath, ‘Placido, Arotti... Carrera, this is it!' She went to open the door and strangled a squawk as Drakasha, now wearing robes swiped from a judge and a distractly itchy wig, grabbed her arm.

‘What?’ she said.

'What if he's in there right now?'

'Then I charm him into thinking I got lost here, silly me, and then we go away and wait for him to leave.' She opened the door and gestured to the empty office beyond.. 'But since it's the middle of afternoon sessions I think we'll be okay. You wait here. Knock at the door if anyone comes past, so I'll know when I need to hide, and act as if you're waiting for someone in here til they're gone. And wish me luck!'

She shut the door in Drakasha's face. An anxious-looking man passing in the corridor stopped her from protesting further. She stood pretending to read one of the files Ezri had given her to carry and was feeling likely to expire from sheer boredom when she was forced to bang on the door once more.'

_Your what?!_ 'Why?' she asked him.

'Well, ah- Justice Melba was taken indisposed with ah- a fit of the overheated humors, you understand I am sure,' he said, with a meaningful glance at the wig on the top of her head. 'And her case is running over rather as a result as considerable cost. All we need is for a Justice in good standing which,' here he gestured to her robes, 'you clearly are to ratify her verdict before Her Majesty' Court and since you are not busy, could we prevail upon you to assist?'

Preoccupied with scratching behind her ear - damn these wigs! Drakasha could not muster a reason to refuse that seemed enough to deter the man without drawing suspicion. She followed him back to the public areas of the building and prayed that Ezri would notice the lack of banging on the door to Carrera's offices and realize that something was amiss. In seemingly no time at all they stood before a small door and Drakasha's companion turned to her. 'Forgive me, but I have not had the pleasure of announcing you before, Justice...?'

It was all Drakasha could do to avoid spitting out something really inappropriate. 'Zam-, Dr-, Orchid-, Orchaeda,' she stammered. 

'Very good, your Worship.' He threw open the doors. 'All rise for the Honourable Justice Orchaeda!' 

Drakasha, projecting her most vicious air of don't-fuck-with-me to cover her internal howls, stalked to the high chair set at the front of the courtroom and sat. 'Be seated' she ordered, with a scratch behind her ear that hopefully looked appropriately judicial. She looked out over the room-

Straight into the eyes of Carrera, the bastard who'd stolen her ship, damn him, currently occupied as counsel in the session she found herself presiding over and looking as though he was suddenly enjoying himself immensely . 

'Oh, _shit_ ' 


End file.
